


Putting Things Right

by Telstar (Altopiano)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Birthday, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altopiano/pseuds/Telstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean finds himself in New York on his birthday</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting Things Right

It was a mistake to come here. A mistake to think he’d want me here. This is his world, raucous and loud and _young_ ; a world I’ve never belonged in and never will. But what the hell, I happened to be here in New York, turning 39 tomorrow, and I thought, for old times’ sake - . So here I am, at someone’s loft party where he’s due to turn up any time, and feeling like a middleaged hick from the sticks. Yep, big mistake for sure.

I put down the drink I’ve been holding and head for the exit. No need for him to even know I was ever here. Then suddenly he’s standing right in front of me, looking shocked as hell, and I’m beginning to realise just how big a mistake this was.

And talking of mistakes, here’s one I made earlier.

...............

_Flashback ten years. New Zealand. Elijah’s house. Elijah’s bed. Elijah under me, all joyous abandon and coming noisily. That perfect, exquisite moment. I roll off him, gasping._

_“Was that us, or was it – them?” I manage._

_Still dazed and breathless, he doesn’t answer._

_“’Cos if it was us, we’re in big trouble.”_

_He turns to me and gathers me in his arms._

_“I think,” he whispers, “maybe we used them to get to us.”_

_I hold him tight, as tightly as I can._

_“It better not happen again,” I murmur._

..............

And it never did.

I didn’t so much let him get away as throw him overboard. And spent the next ten years clinging to the life raft of my marriage until it could no longer take the strain. That’s the sort of league we’re in here, mistakes-wise; and when I notice Pam at his side, svelte and feminine, I’m tempted to just run for it. But -

“Sean.”

Just my name, that’s all he says. And next thing, his arms are round my neck and he’s holding on tight, and what else is there to do but likewise? It’s been a good year since I was even in the same room as him, and the scent of cloves in his hair and clothes is intoxicating. He’s thin as a wisp in my arms, and I can feel his heart hammering against me like a puppy’s. His beard is soft on my cheek. There are no words.

I could stay here like this for another ten birthdays, but I’m aware of cameras flashing around us. This is going to be on the net within minutes, and then – _oh, the fan fiction!_ , as I believe J. K. Rowling once said.

I guess he’s thinking the same, because he pulls back, clutching at the messenger bag slung round his shoulder, and turns to Pam, who’s still standing there.

“Pam, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

He introduces us, and I shake her hand. Although I know they’ve been together for years, this is the first time I’ve actually met her. That says something, I think, about where I am with Elijah.

He says to her gently,

“Hon, can you give us some time?”

“Sure, pooch,” she says, smiling at him, and kissing him on the cheek she wanders away into the crowd.

Elijah takes my arm and leads me to a relatively quiet corner, snagging a couple of beers along the way. We sit down and begin the long process of two old friends catching up. We quickly get round to Pam.

“She’s great,” he says warmly. “She’s wonderful. I love her to bits. She’s – well, probably the best thing in my life right now...”

_But...?_

“That’s great,” I say quickly. “I’m happy for you.”

Inevitably he asks about Chris.

“She’s - OK, I guess.”

At the look he gives me, I realise he doesn’t know.

“We’re separated. The divorce is going through right now.”

“Sean, no!” 

He really seems distressed, and stares at me hard with those eyes, which I can’t quite meet.

“Give me a half hour,” he says at last. “I need to see some folks here, and then we can go.”

“Go where?”

“Back to my place, I guess.”

I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, but he’s already disappeared into the throng. So for thirty minutes I work my way round the room, chatting here and there with individuals from this smart crowd, taking in the artwork and avoiding photographers. I glimpse Pam up on a balcony, talking and laughing, but I don’t see Elijah until he finds me again.

“Ready?” he says.

“What about Pam?”

“Pam’s cool. Don’t worry about it. Let’s go get a cab. Oh, and – ,“ he holds his watch out for me to see. “Happy Birthday.”

In the taxi he gets me talking, and I find myself spilling about the gradual break up of my marriage, how I held it together as long as I could, until neither Chris nor I could pretend any more. I don’t mention that night in New Zealand, but I’m guessing he hasn’t forgotten.

We get to his apartment and he fixes us some coffee. I look around the place. It’s small, unfussy, very Elijah. I can’t help noticing no evidence of Pam, and say so, perhaps unwisely.

“She doesn’t live here,” he tells me, sounding surprised I would mention it. “She has her own place.”

He hands me a mug, and looks at me consideringly.

“She knows the deal, Sean,” he says. “I’ve always been honest with her.”

I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, and frankly, I’m scared to ask.

I sit down at one end of Elijah’s big, comfy couch, and he sits right next to me, I mean almost leaning on me. Back in New Zealand we were like that all the time, touchy feely and in each other’s space. Since then, the less we’ve seen of each other the more distant we seem to have become; so this closeness feels, well, like coming home again. And I have to go and tell him so. 

He sighs.

“You’ve been away a long time. Do you think you’re ready to come home now?”

“I was speaking metaphorically – “

“I know, jerk. So was I. I’m asking if you’ve come here because you’re ready to think about a relationship with me now.”

Elijah can be very direct when he wants to be.

“I – I – “ 

Yes, I really am that pathetic. But bless him, he takes pity on me.

“OK, you don’t have to answer that. I’m sorry, it was wrong of me. I guess I’ve just never given up hoping that you would come back.”

 _Back to what...?_ I stare at my coffee,the floor, an interesting stain on the wall. _And what about - ?_

“And before you say _What about Pam?_ – I told you, she knows the score. She knows about you.”

“Me? What about me?” I ask, wondering how I can politely exit this conversation.

“That I loved you first, and I love you still.”

We’re both silent for a while after that.

“You – do?” I manage to say at last.

“Yes, Sean, I do. I know it wasn’t right for you, before. I didn’t know if it ever would be. There was Chris, and Ally – no way I was messing with that. And then came Lizzie, and then Bella... every new baby seemed to take you further away. I’m not blaming you, don’t think that. I just – it seemed clear our paths were diverging. I had to accept that. But I never stopped loving you, and I don’t think I ever will.”

Now, even my best friends will tell you, I don’t roll with the punches very well. And right now I’m feeling like I’ve taken a hefty one, somewhere around my midriff. 

“OK,” he says, “now you know where I stand. Now it’s your turn.”

Jesus. Where to start? Well, I ask him where the bathroom is. And I go and I lock myself in, and I stay there far longer than any normal bodily functions could require. But I need some time to collect myself, and think about what’s been said. Chiefly about what he said about loving me.

I mean - he _loves_ me? That’s too freakin’ unreal. And yet... somehow I know it in my bones. I’ve always known it. He does love me; and –

And –

And it’s time to put things right.

I go back in the living room and he’s still sitting on the couch, calmly smoking. He’s mine for the taking, it would seem; but I’m a long way off feeling comfortable with that. I can’t just jump in. I need to prepare a path with words, lots of them. I need to tell him about me, the unravelling of my life these last ten years; about Christine, how she didn’t deserve for any of this to happen; and above all, about my girls, my darling, beautiful girls. I need him to tell me I haven’t abandoned them, that they’re going to be all right. That no-one’s going to get hurt this time. And I need him to make me believe it.

So, we talk, and it takes most of the night, and he does most of the listening. A lot of stuff comes out that even I didn’t know was in there, including a fair volume of tears. He maintains some kind of physical contact with me throughout, maybe just a hand on my arm, or more than once, a bearhug – whatever it takes. At one point he confides, rather hesitantly, that there have been many lovers in his bed over the years, starting back before Rings and continuing even since he and Pam got together. Some of them, men. As if I might find in that a reason to lower my estimation of him.

“That’s good,” I say, and I mean it. “At least one of us knows his way around.”

He tells me he loves me, I lose count of how many times. Eventually I tell him I love him too, have loved him since New Zealand but was too dumb to realise it till now. His face when I say this I will remember to my dying day, and to my dying day I will never come close to comprehending it.

Somewhere towards morning I guess I doze off, and when I wake up again it’s light outside. And here we are. Elijah’s apartment. Elijah’s couch. Elijah asleep against me, still fully clothed and all talked out. I feel like I’ve lost a decade, like this is the morning after that night all those years ago; except - . Except my boy’s all grown up now. No trace remains of that gawky adolescent who so bewitched me. This beautiful man at my side is no less bewitching; the difference now, this morning, is that seemingly I’ve parked a lot of the baggage I was carrying. This time, I really think I can allow it to happen. In fact, I’m willing to let him make a full-time career of it, if he wants.

He stirs, blinks, yawns, stretches. Reminds me of my girls’ cat. Turns to me and _purrs_...

Before I know it, we’re in his bedroom, and I’m thinking things are starting to go right at last.

..............

He stands there looking me over, and suddenly I’m not so sure. I’m overweight and out of shape – I guess I haven’t been taking proper care of myself, and frankly, I’ve ballooned these past few months. I never expected to be in a bedroom situation with Elijah, or indeed with anyone, and it just didn’t seem that important. Now though, faced with his searching gaze, not to mention his trim little figure, I’m really regretting allowing my gym membership to lapse.

He comes close and puts his hands flat on my chest, moving them lightly in little circles in a way that pulls at the hairs under my shirt. It feels incredibly good, but I’m still not sure. His hands slide round to my back and he presses himself against me, chest and belly, cheek to cheek. I go to rest my hands on his shoulders, and find that I’m running them through his hair instead, and stroking that kitten soft beard. He makes a sort of low humming noise, which I take to mean he likes what I’m doing.

“Sexy...” he breathes, raising every single hair on my body. “You’re so sexy...”

I could argue, but what the hell. Instead I slowly and carefully take all his clothes off, one article at a time, and drop them at our feet. Then he does the same for me. Neither of us says a word. With fingertips we gently touch each other’s bodies, and when we’re done with that we go and lie down on the bed, and entwine all our limbs together. _Now_ I’m sure.

We spend quite some time just kissing, long, languorous, wet kisses with lots of tongue. Last time, I remember, we didn’t do much of that, and now I’m wondering why. Because right this minute it seems like nothing in the world could be as good as kissing Elijah. He kisses me deep, and he kisses me softly, wonderingly, fingers skimming gently across my face as though he can’t quite believe this is real.

Soon enough though, his hands leave my face and start to wander, and now things begin to get a bit more urgent. What my hands are doing by this time, I have no idea – just grabbing whatever feels good, I guess. And boy, right now, _everything_ seems to feel good. He rolls onto his back and spreads his legs, pulling me between them and on top of him. _This_ we did before, and I begin to push blindly, seeking that same maddening contact that I remember. But very soon he twists to one side, breaking my rhythm as he reaches into the drawer beside the bed. I kiss his extended neck, his ear, nuzzle his facial hair. Any portion of his body he wants to present for my delight is fine by me. He turns back to me and he’s got something in his hands, but they go behind my neck as he lifts up to kiss me again. I’m not curious; currently, with his tongue in my ear, I haven’t the mental capacity to spare. 

“Want you to fuck me,” he whispers, and I sob. “Please, Sean...”

“Oh yes oh yes please yes,” and then, “show me what to do?” and he does.

He’s open and welcoming, a veteran; whereas me, I’m a virgin at this. I go in carefully, and oh god, he’s sweeter than hot chocolate in there. I’m thinking, I can do this, keep it steady, measured, good for him. But now he’s making little sounds with each slow thrust as I push on right to the heart of him, and each little sound breaks me a little more. His hands are clutching and tangling in my hair, we’re not quite kissing now, we haven’t the breath for it. His eyes are on mine, pools wide and dark, so familiar and yet never quite like this – aflame – unseated – raving – . My entire sensory apparatus is taking a battering, and those sounds are increasing in intensity, driving me deeper, harder, faster. I’m aware I’m spinning out of control, and for once it doesn’t matter.

 _Let go, Sean._ I let go.

He squeals and clings on tight and we’re flotsam in the flood, riding the roaring torrent that rushes in and fills us both till we’re overflowing, spilling over, and he’s catching me, I’m gathering him up, we’re taking it all and giving it right back, and _oh, oh!_ This is love, this at last is love! All is healed, all forgiven, all dolour and doubt washed away... we are boundless, mere molecules... an inundation of sensation that recedes like a sigh, is but a memory, and we’re left, dripping and breathless, quivering like babes in a world made anew.

..............

Ages pass.

He sleeps. I am content. The day is good.

But enough now, Sean. The wonderful thing that has begun here today, surpasses even your ability to lock it down with words.

And it always will.


End file.
